Senses are Difficult
by everyday-deeds
Summary: For her, human senses almost as difficult as verb tenses. But they're new and let her see the world and her Doctor in such an incredible way. Takes place during "The Doctor's Wife." Idris-TARDIS/Doctor one-shot.


_First Doctor Who fanfiction- milestone! I was re-watching 'The Doctor's Wife' the other day and decided that there just wasn't enough exploration of Idris/TARDIS as a character, so I wrote this as a break from NaNo and school stress. Feedback and constructive criticism would be lovely, since I'm not really used to writing in this style. But it was what I thought best for the character, so yeah- there you go. Enjoy!_

_I don't own Doctor Who._

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><p><strong>Sight:<strong>

When she sees him, she has to run up to him. It's so _strange_ to be this far away from him; normally he is close enough for her to feel him laughing as he twirls around the controls or hops up and down the stairs. He looks young when she looks at him with these eyes, though she is seeing him at every age and every time and it would not matter whether he was wearing a leather jacket or a long scarf, or whether he has white hair, brown hair, short hair, or no hair. She would know him. The young man with the bow tie and brown jacket is her thief- and at last she is seeing him the way other people see him and now she thinks she can understand why so many of his companions stick with him. There's something about his voice and his eyes that can draw a person. And though it doesn't draw her in the usual way, she knows that she will always want to see him, and it makes her smile to think that he doesn't know yet that it's _her. _

He's such a beautiful idiot and he always has been, though she thinks the version of him she's seeing now is definitely more beautiful than the others. She likes how his face can smile and show sorrow all at once, and she especially likes how crooked his mouth is when he smiles. But now she remembers everything else he's done, and really, he's always been beautiful. His eyes have always had something in their depths that no one else's will, and she's not really sure what it's called. But it was in his eyes when she stole him and he her. Is it joy- yes, she's certain it's joy. And that joy is all the more present now, it's shining in his eyes as he looks around and then he sees her, and then he looks so confused that she wants to laugh. She's seen that face on him more often than any other, and it's the same face no matter the body. The confused face. No matter what, that won't change. Everything else about him might.

But she is his thief and he is hers, and she would know him anywhere.

**Touch:**

Naturally when she sees him, she wants to show him that it's her. And no one else knows him like her. She is to him what the orangey one is to the pretty one. That much she can recognize. The strange wild pounding coursing through this strange thing- she thinks it's called a heart- or is it soul?- she knows that feeling can only come from him. He's special. And she's special to him. They are each other's truest and most constant joy.

So how do the pretty one and the orangey one show it? She asks herself that and then she is remembering- or is she watching it? It's hard to tell the difference between remembering and watching, but it doesn't matter. They press their lips together- they do it just after the time in the place with streets of water and buildings of stone. They press their lips together and wrap their arms around each other as though they'll never let go.

So she does the same for _him_.

She feels his breath catch suddenly- a sudden brush of warmth against her lips, which she isn't quite sure how to use for this kind of thing. His lips are much softer than she would have expected for someone whose words can make so many afraid. He's surprised, and from the way his arms are held out from his sides, he doesn't know whether or not to push her away or hold her. He seems surprised, but she thinks he likes it- or is he liking it sometime ahead? At any rate, he does like it at _some_ point in time and so she keeps kissing him until those other people pull her back. She doesn't like that, but they let her go quickly enough.

Now that she thinks about, perhaps he wants something stronger. And they've said biting, and she knows biting and she's thinking now and she's sure she knows the Doctor laughs when she bites him. So she does so.

He doesn't laugh. He yells loudly instead. But it doesn't really matter. For her it's all the present to some degree and at some point he will laugh because she bit him. When he laughs doesn't really matter to her.

**Smell:**

Smell isn't something she knows very well. The way she's made and the way her consciousness perceives hasn't allowed for smell. So she knows it exists, but what's the _point_ of it? After all, it's not like it does very much, and this place- House, she thinks it's called, or at least it's what it calls itself- this place doesn't smell good at all. It's bitter and foul and there's something in the air that makes her think of blood. Now that she does think about it, she knows what this air is filled with, and her heart goes out to her thief for how sorry he will be when he finds out.

But now she is thinking about it, and there could be a reason for smell. She smelt something when she kissed him- a quick passing whiff of something that is sweet and clean and somehow rich all at once. It's a scent that only _he_ can have. And for all she knows that scent could be gone in the next minute and he could be dirty and tired and sweaty- surely he is and she smells it at some point, so that must be in the future. She puts it aside for now. She told someone something about smell, didn't she- or is she telling- no, she _will_ tell someone. And it's a fleeting smell, and the smell had a pretty word attached to it. It was petrichor- now she remembers- it was petrichor, the scent of dust after rain. A quick fleeting thing that smells a little like the Doctor himself- fresh and clean and just a hint of something more all hidden in that little bit of stuff in the air.

She smiles. Scent is good for something after all then.

**Taste:**

When she breathes, she can taste the dust and the dirt in the air, and it makes her want to cry. She can taste the old metal and wood and the subtle taste of something else- something that comes from having of all time ingrained in your soul. But in this place, in this graveyard, it's scattered and thrown around and tainted with the dirt and the atmosphere and the taste of the thing was here. It makes her want to cry.

There's a bitterness and a tang to this air. She can feel it drying her tongue and catching in her throat. The taste of the broken bodies of her sister Tardises. It's a taste that angers her and makes her sad. To take her mind off it, she tries to remember what the Doctor tasted like on her lips. But even that doesn't work. And she hasn't tasted much else, so she doesn't have any way to distract herself.

So she remembers the tone of voice in which he had said, "Since we're talking with our mouths." She wonders if words can have a taste on the tongue, and that she can believe. Maybe it's her imagination, but her beautiful thief's name for her- Sexy- seems to crackle and taste sweet on her tongue as she reminds him of it. And when she says "my sisters" there's a slow taste that's rich and incredibly bitter. She wonders if tears taste like that. She wants to weep for her sisters and if she cries, then she'll know.

But her idiot is stumbling around now, trying desperately build something to save his friends because they need him. So she helps him and finds out what sweat and hard work tastes like. It's nothing she wants to taste again, but it's savory and in a strange way, fulfilling.

**Hearing: **

The human voice is such a beautiful thing.

She's heard so many voices. She's heard _his_, and though he's had so many voices and so many different ways of talking, she knows what he sounds like. He sounds like strength and delight and sorrow and joy all held together by something she has to call love, because it's the only word strong enough. He takes delight in any and everything, and she can hear it always, because she knows she will always hear him.

She's heard his companions. They change so much and there's nothing constant about them unless it's that they all have a common thread of delight in the seeing of the world. And in that they're linked to her thief forever, and though some have made mistakes and some have made her laugh, they will all have different voices and yet they will all have that thread. It's beautiful to hear.

But now, at last, she's hearing her voice. And she finds, strangely, that she doesn't want to say so much. There's so much to say, but not many words to use.

So she finally settles for "Hello, Doctor."

Her voice resonates a little, and she likes how it sounds. It fills the room and has a musical sound that takes her by surprise, it's so beautiful. It's a shame she won't be able to use it again. There's something so powerful about having a voice, having a way to _tell_ things in a way that doesn't involve throwing her thief to where he's needed. She can tell him herself, because she is _alive_, alive in a way that will never come again, and she knows that. But it doesn't make it any the less beautiful just because it's different now. She'll always be with her beautiful idiot, even if she'll never be able to talk to him again.

And since she won't be able to talk again, she has to whisper one last thing, and this time her voice is soft and much more gentle:

"_I love you_."

And just before she fades away back into her home, she hears him catch his breath in the faintest of sobs. And when she later hears his laugh and sees him laughing and smiling at her in the control room, she knows that he'll always love her back. Even if she'll never _hear _him say it in those words, she'll hear the meaning in the laughter and the smiles and the way he whispers "You sexy thing."

She knows they'll always be able to hear that love, across all space and time, because he is her madman, and she is his means of seeing the world they both love so much.


End file.
